


Polaroids

by DashieP



Category: The Masked Singer (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Possibly Unrequited Love, Trans!Rabbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashieP/pseuds/DashieP
Summary: You're either a doer or a watcher.Rabbit's a watcher, but not by choice.
Relationships: Astronaut (The Masked Singer US)/Turtle (The Masked Singer US), Fox (The Masked Singer US)/Rabbit (The Masked Singer US)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Polaroids

**_Rabbit’s ten when he meets Turtle for the first time._ **

He’s sitting alone in the classroom, doodling on a paper. He’s used to this by now; having giant wires in your ears tends to make you a social outcast. He’s better by himself anyway. Instead he entertains himself with his own imaginary world, where he’s a shining star up on a stage, singing and dancing.

The sheet’s snatched from beneath him and a short coyote holds it above her head tauntingly. “Aw, what’s our little BunBun drawing?” She’s smirking at him with cold eyes, and Rabbit sighs.

“Please, Coyo, don’t.” He knows his please will fall on deaf ears, but he can’t help but try.

“Poor bunny, what’d you try and draw this time? Some friends?” Her friends’ titter behind her, and Rabbit shoots them a glare. Stupid, stupid canines, always flocking together. The bratty pup flashes her teeth in a cruel grin, examining his art. “Isn’t that cute, baby BunBun wants to be a singer!”

The hyena’s shriek with laughter, falling over themselves to paw at the paper. Rabbit crosses his arms, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks. He tells himself it’s just a doodle, he can make another. It doesn’t help.

Without any warning a small green blur slams into the side of the canine, flinging her across the room with a squeal. Rabbit rears back in surprise, falling off his chair. He hears Coyo’s posse grumble something at the newcomer, but they back off and flee to the teacher’s desk, whining pathetically.

A gloved hand is thrusted into his face, and cautiously he accepts it.

A small turtle is giving him a warm smile. “Hi!” They chirps brightly. Rabbit wrinkles his nose in confusion; did this kid not know who he was? “H-Hey,” He replies. The other takes the seat across from him, spinning it around and leaning their chest against the back of the chair. It’s only then that Rabbit notices the short dull spikes protruding from the shell. He looks at them for a moment. His chest feels warm as he studies them, and he’s smiling before he can stop himself. They must have slammed into the bullies with their shell, it’s the only logical explanation. He’s struck with a single thought: this child’s his personal superhero, here to save him!

Rabbit decides he doesn’t like that idea. He’s no damsel in distress, he wants to be a hero too. The white mammal imagines he's on a rooftop, cape billowing in the wind, using his hypersensitive hearing to track down crime. Mentally, he names his superhero identity the Ampli-dude.

He smooths his dress down with a huff and picks up his doodle. It’s slightly crinkled now, but in better condition than it would have been without intervention.

“Whatcha drawing?”

* * *

**_He’s fourteen when he trusts Turtle, really trusts him, for the first time._ **

Turtle sits on the edge of Rabbit’s bed, legs dangling. They’re playing a round of Smash Bro’s after class, a tradition for the two. Their backpacks lay abandoned at the foot of his desk. Eventually they’d have to buckle down and do their homework, but his dad wasn’t home to get on their case yet. Rabbit bites his lip, anxious. He’s decided today is the day he comes out to his best friend. They’ve known each other for years now, long enough that there shouldn’t be any hesitation on his part.

“I need to tell you something.”

Turtle looks up, pausing the game with a flick of the wrist. “Sure, what’s up?” He shoots back, leaning back against the wall gently. Rabbit swallows and takes a deep breath. _There’s nothing to be scared about, it’s just T_ , he tells himself. Fear bubbles in his stomach, nonetheless. Does he just outright say it? Is there some way he’s meant to segue to it? His ears spaz and Turtle notices. “Hey, I’m here for you. No matter what.”

There’s an earnest look in the reptile’s eyes that Rabbit hasn’t seen before. It’s warm enough to melt the glacier sitting on his chest, and he speaks.

“I identify as a man.” The words feel so light now that they’ve left his mouth and he grins. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and it feels amazing. He’s almost tempted to say it again, just to admire the way it sounds.

Turtle nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He parrots back, surprised. Turtle rubs his beak. “So, what’re your pronouns?” The shell-head asks after a moment. Rabbit relaxes slightly. “He, him, his, those one’s are fine.”

Turtle lightly bumps his shoulder against the other’s, chuckling. “Thanks for telling me, man. It means a lot that you trust me.” Rabbit can’t fight back the smile that graces his lips. He knows their relationships changed now that he’s opened the door to emotions like this. It feels right.

They sit in silence for a moment, Turtle answering a text to his father and Rabbit basking in the afterglow of telling his truth. He’s so grateful to have the shell-head in his life; he couldn’t have found a better friend.

“Alright, back to kicking your ass.” He snarks, head twitching in excitement as he leans over and resumes the game. Turtle chuckles and narrows his eyes. “You mean watching me kick _your_ ass?”

* * *

**_He’s seventeen when he catches on to his fate._ **

A loud bell rings and Rabbit looks up in surprise. He’s not the only one caught off guard by the sound of the fire alarm, as even his teacher seems confused. Quietly the class stands and single files out into the hallway, making their way down and out the rear doorway into the grass lot.

Something hisses at him as he rounds the corner. Rabbit slows, ears picking up the almost inaudible sound. He bends down and pretends to tie his shoe, allowing the others to pass him by. Once they do, he slinks behind the wall, coming face to face with Turtle. The shorter man’s smirking. “Your chariot awaits, m’Rabbit.” He snarks, bowing low to the ground with an air of theatricality. Rabbit snorts and lightly kicks Turtle onto his side.

“Are we blowing this joint?” He inquires, pulling his schoolbag tighter to his chest as the duo start walking. It’s not the first time they’d skipped classes before, but usually they agreed beforehand. He didn’t mind the spontaneity, however. 

Turtle talks as he moves. “Coyo was being a dick; figured you could use an escape.” The rabbit flushes. It’s true; earlier that morning the cheerleader had started with her normal transphobic crap. Rabbit tried not to let it show, but his best friend must have known how much it had been getting to him.

Neither speak until they make it to Rabbit’s car. “You pulled the fire escape? Damn, T, you could get suspended for that.” They’ve always joked around about doing it, but his father is way too strict for them to actually go for it.

Turtle smiles, standing on his tip toes to sling an arm across the other’s shoulders. “Anything for my Rabbie, right?” It’s such a lighthearted comment but it makes the mammal’s heart flutter in a strange way. He ignores the feeling at first, sliding into the passenger side and surrendering the keys. His shellhead loves to drive, joking that the wind in his mohawk was the best feeling in the world.

It takes him a few minutes before he realizes. He’d just mentally referred to Turtle as _his_. Why did that make his chest hurt again? The pain’s strangely familiar, having come and gone in the last few weeks. He looks over at his best friend, who’s currently drumming his fingers against the open window, humming along to the radio happily.

There’s that throb again. Rabbit puts a paw against his chest, whiskers twitching. He’s not stupid. This pang, this weird abnormality within’s being caused by Turtle, that much is clear. It feels warm, not a burn but a tingle. Shit, is he catching feelings? His other friends have already hit this phase of their lives, but he’d never felt anything like this.

Turtle looks at him and for a moment Rabbit’s breathless, caught up in the way the light twinkles in his orange eyes. His best friend has always been an intense person, and the passion visible in the deep color emphasizes this. For a moment he wants to say something, to share this revelation he’s come to. The words dance on the edge of his lips, and he doesn’t break the staring contest they’re engaged in. There’s something deeper in the way they look at each other, a static in the air that hadn’t been present a few minutes before. His thoughts race with the way to say what he feels-

A horn honks behind them and the moment’s lost. The leather clad punk blinks and clears his throat, and Rabbit rushes to get them back on track. “Dude, if we wreck my car Pop’s gonna kill me.” Turtle smirks at him, rubbing the steering wheel fondly. “Oh please, I’m a way better driver then you. You’d be lost without me, Bibi.”

If his heart flutters at that, well, Rabbit doesn’t notice.

* * *

**_He is just turning nineteen when his life officially begins_ **

Blue and yellow caps float down from the sky, the cheers of his graduating class erupting around him. His classmates congratulate each other and slowly make their way over to proud families, but he has a different stop first.

Rabbit makes a beeline for Turtle’s section. He spots the other and practically leaps into his arms for a hug. “We did it! We’re finally free!” He crows. Turtle throws his head back and laughs heartily.

“Did that just dawn on you now?” He quips, grinning affectionately at the hyperactive rabbit. “Why aren’t you taking pictures with your Dad?” Turtle asks, and Rabbit remembers the reason he came over in the first place. “Yeah, he’s waiting for us! Come on, the sooner we get the show and tell over with the sooner we hit the after-party.” His sing-song tone doesn’t distract Turtle from the first half of the sentence. “Wait, _us_? But…” His voice trails off, and Rabbit twitches nervously as his best friend looks around the sea of families.

Turtle’s parents were always busy. His father ran some demolition company, meaning he was constantly flying to another city to take care of work issues. His mother usually accompanied him, leaving their young son home alone most of the time. The shell head had never really seemed to mind.

Rabbit feels stupid. _Of course_ Turtle had hoped his parents would make it back in time for their only son’s graduation. Who wouldn’t? Turtle may not have said anything, but Rabbit should’ve realized. With a sad smile he tugs the other into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, man.” He whispers, and feels the punk rocker let out a shuddery breath.

“Yeah…”

The mood stays somewhat somber until they arrive at the party, clad in their best looks. Rabbit’s gone his traditional route, pulling on a dark blue hoodie and jeans. Turtle, meanwhile, has gone all out. He’s donned his favorite leather jacket, complete with heeled boots that make him ever so slightly taller than Rabbit. The vodka they’d pregammed with bounces around in his stomach, almost in time to the music pouring out of the small house.

“Come on, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Turtle’s rocking back and forth on his heels excitedly, a habit he’s had as long as Rabbit has known him. The older teen smiles and lets his friend drag him into the building, more focused on the feeling of Turtle’s hand in his. He has yet to say anything about his feelings, too afraid of rejection, of losing this comradery they share.

At some point Rabbit gets separated from his friend and meanders his way towards the punch bowl. He’s scooping out a small cupful when someone saddles up beside him. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you, it’s practically rubbing alcohol at this point.” They say. Rabbit sniffs the drink and immediately coughs, the fumes burning his whiskers. “Oh God, thanks for the heads up.” He mutters, dumping it back into the bowl with a disgusted look. The stranger laughs.

He turns to look at them, taking in their…extravagantly long coat. “Egg. We were in biochem together, remember?” 

“Ooh, yeah! That class sucked,” Rabbit snickers. Egg nods in agreement.

“I didn’t take you for the party type.” Egg says conversationally, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small flask. “Want some? It’s not as deadly as the juice.” With a grateful smile he accepts, allowing Egg to pour a little into his cup before taking a baby sip.

It wasn’t strong but it did have a bite, stinging Rabbit’s throat as it went down. He fights back the urge to cough, not wanting to look childish in front of the other man. Egg, for his part, says nothing about the hare’s clear inexperience.

Finally, he feels like he can speak. “I’m-I’m here for Turtle mostly.” 

“I should’ve figured.” Egg has a knowing smile on his face, and Rabbit’s put on edge.

“What does that mean?”

Egg shrugs noncommittally, looking around the crowd. “Nothing.” Rabbit wants to push the subject, but he spies Turtle out of the corner of his eye, standing atop a pool table. He groans.

“You might want to go get your man.”

Rabbit splutters. “He’s not- He’s not my man,” he finishes lamely, hiding the blush by taking a long chug of his drink. Egg chuckles again. “Uh huh, sure.”

He’s about to set the egg straight when he hears Turtle shout. “ _Hell yeah_ I can make it down the stairs, let’s do it!”

The lagomorph is immediately sprinting for his drunken toddler of a friend, stopping him. “Yeah, no, we’re not doing that.” He tells the shell-head, who in return pouts. Dammit, does he have to be so adorable? Rabbit forces himself to keep a straight face, focusing instead on excusing the two of them from the disappointed groans and dragging Turtle to the door. “We need a breather.” He sighs.

Spotting a small swinging bench in the homeowner’s backyard he plops the other down, sitting beside him. “Why don’t we just chill for a minute?” He suggests, and Turtle nods happily. “’Kay Bibi.”

“I told you not to call me that anymore.” Rabbit complains, trying to hide his smile behind his paw. He’d never admit it to a sober Turtle, but he loves that nickname and the way it sends sparks through his chest. In response Turtle slides closer to Rabbit, bumping his shell against the fluffy shoulder. It’s a practiced move, one he’s done thousands of times. “Ease up, bubby! We jus’ graduated high school, the world’s our oy’ster or som’thin.” Turtle’s slurring most of his words.

Red eyes roll. “Uh huh, of course.”

Turtle giggles. “You’re no fun.” He draws out the last word, leaning closer to Rabbit. “I am fun, you’re just drunk off your ass.” Maybe it’s Egg’s mysterious booze but he feels brave so he reaches out and bops Turtle lightly on the beak. He’s never touched his friends face before; it’s bumpier than he imagined. He lets his paw linger for a minute. Slowly, as if under a spell, he slides it over to cup Turtle’s cheek, just holding his face.

Turtle lets out a quiet sigh, so faint that Rabbit almost thinks he imagined it. “Bibi…” Turtle’s sliding even closer now and their thighs are resting against each other. His body tingles wherever they meet. Rabbit says nothing, too caught up in their little bubble to think of anything to say. He feels Turtle place his hand on Rabbit’s stomach. It’s a hesitant touch, one he encourages by leaning in slightly. Their faces are a millimeter apart now, so close that Rabbit can feel Turtle’s breath on his nose.

He can’t remember who moves first but suddenly they’re crashing together in a desperate kiss. Rabbit twines his paw through Turtle’s hair, mussing up the mohawk. Turtle groans into his mouth and Rabbit’s senses are on fire.

The kiss is like pure oxygen for him, and he drinks in Turtle needily, letting his paws wander wherever they want. He effortlessly relocates the reptile to his lap, cautious of the spikes on his shell as he wraps his arms around the other to pull him in. He can’t believe they’re finally doing this. He’s fantasized about kissing Turtle before, sure, but he’d never imagined it would feel this amazing.

His friend’s practically buzzing in his arms and Rabbit can’t picture ever wanting to let go. This was how it should be, how it was always meant to be! The outside world could disappear, and he’d never notice. His heart pounds in time to the music that’s vibrating through his bones, and he squeezes Turtle a little tighter.

Turtle lets out a gasp and Rabbit is thrilled. He could never have guessed how noisy Turtle was, but it’s fitting. Slowly he breaks away, leaning in to rest his forehead against shell. “What’re we doing?” He asks quietly.

There’s no response at first, and Rabbit worries for a moment that Turtle’s passed out. “T?” He bumps his head lightly against the plastron.

“Why didn’t my parents come?” Turtle’s voice is shaky, like he’s fighting back tears. Rabbit closes his eyes for a moment, tightening his hold on the drunk teen. “I don’t know, buddy.” He finally replies, stroking his leathery shoulders to make Turtle feel better. “They’re stupid, that’s why.”

“I thought…Dad promised he’d make the effort this time.”

“I know he did.”

Silence rings through the air for a few minutes. Neither one moves, afraid that even the smallest motion would shatter the vulnerability they’ve created. Rabbit can still feel Turtle’s lips against his, and it sends flurries racing past his heart. He feels as if a door’s been opened now, one he had never dreamed could be. There’s no way his best friend didn’t feel how right that was, how natural everything came.

He doesn’t say anything, however, and just keeps holding Turtle. His poor bud’s too emotionally drained for that type of conversation right now. There would be a better time, one where the last puzzle piece would click into place. Rabbit may be physically grounded, but his heart is soaring far above the atmosphere.

* * *

**_The plan goes awry when he turns twenty-one._ **

The clacking of keys behind him is making the rabbit homicidal. With an irritated groan he tosses a pencil at the shell-head. “Seriously bro, could you _be_ any louder?” He complains, swiveling around to face his roommate.

“I just need to get this done, put on your lofi-beats or something,” Turtle shoots back. He continues typing at a break-neck pace.

“Dude, are you hacking the CIA or something? What’s so urgent?” Rabbit knows him well enough by now, there’s no way he’s that worried about his grades. 

Turtle doesn’t answer immediately, hunching over his laptop with an intensity he usually saves for pranking. Rabbit rolls his eyes and waits, twirling another pencil between his fingers and humming under his breath. They’re in their third year of college and Rabbit’s having the time of his life. He’s studying to be a pyrotechnician, his dream job. It allows him to mix his interest in performance with his love of fire, all while staying on the right side of the law. 

“I just had to finish my PowerPoint on dietary habits, I have plans tonight.” Turtle pushes away from his desk and stretches. Rabbit’s interested is peaked.

“What, is Rottie throwing a party or something?” He can’t imagine that the dog wouldn’t invite him if he were.

Turtle rubs the back of his neck with a strange chuckle. “I, uh…I actually have a date in an hour.”

“Oh.”

Rabbit can’t breathe. He watches quietly as the rocker goes about getting ready, feeling like his stomach is going to come out his throat. A date? He didn’t know that Turtle was even interested in anyone right now; he spends most of his time with Rabbit and the gang messing around. Where had he even found someone?

He makes himself take a slow breath. It doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s for the best; the timing still hadn’t panned out for him to confess his feelings anyway, perhaps it would when Turtle got back. Nodding to himself he wishes the other luck, maintaining a calm exterior. _Once Turtle returns all bummed out from his date I’ll tell him_ , Rabbit rationalizes.

That doesn’t quite happen.

Turtle comes home, beak flushed and eyes bright. The sight conflicts him: on one hand, nothing brings him greater joy than seeing his roommate so happy; on the other, the knowledge that another person is the cause of it hurt somewhere deep inside his bones. He bites back the pain and smiles along as the man he loves gushes about another guy. It can’t last forever, right?

Next week Turtle takes this mystery person to a movie, then a hike after that, and eventually he drags Rabbit out to dinner to meet this guy. Getting dressed for the meal feels akin to prepping for an execution but he’s nothing if not a good friend so he goes. He’s the first one at the diner and gets a booth in the back corner. It’s their usual spot and Rabbit could use a homefield advantage tonight. 

His breath catches when he sees the reptile walk in. He’s ditched the usual leather jacket, going instead for a casual blazer and dress pants. The pants fit him perfectly, showcasing his long legs. The rabbit grabs for his water glass with a twitch, distracting himself with a long chug. “Hey Rabbie, thanks again for coming.”

“Of course, I can’t wait to meet him. You haven’t exactly been chatty Cathy,” Rabbit teases, a plastic smile plastered on his face. Turtle doesn’t notice. “Yeah, sorry, I just didn’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“It’s fine, I’m just surprised. You used to tell me everything.”

If the mammal didn’t know any better, he’d think he saw a hurt expression flit across the other’s face. Turtle opens his beak to reply but sees something over Rabbit’s shoulder and immediately his posture changes. “Astro, over here!”

Oh boy.

* * *

**_Twenty-three brings mistakes._ **

Another shot of brandy scorches its way down his throat. Good, he wants the heat right now. It’s Turtlenaut’s anniversary (that’s what he’s taken to calling them) and he needs to be anywhere else but their apartment, so he’s taken residence in a bar downtown, hoping to drown his pain in booze.

The music is loud, so loud it’s beginning to bother his ears. He reaches up and twists one of the wires, as if he’s adjusting the volume setting within his brain. It doesn’t help, of course, but it makes him chuckle nonetheless. He could use a laugh anyway.

Rabbit is shocked at how long that stupid space cadet’s been around for; none of Turtle’s other floozies had made it to the six-month mark, let alone two years. On the surface he was happy for his best bud: he’s never seen the reptile so happy in all their years. He walks around on cloud nine, head buried in his phone texting the small alien.

On the outside he’s the happy, supportive friend.

But inside?  
He’s _burning alive_.

Someone plops into the stool next to him, drunkenly smacking the countertop to get the bar keep’s attention. “Gimme a shot o’ whatever,” The lady slurs, and Rabbit can’t help but roll his eyes. Seriously, sloppy alcoholics were the worst. He wraps a protective arm around his glass, not wanting it to be spilled. Small mercies are all he prays for tonight.

As was typical for him, that doesn’t happen. Instead, the woman narrows her eyes at him. “What, got a problem?” She sneers, and Rabbit’s almost mesmerized by the way her twin ponytails whip around her head as she speaks. The sight reminds him of an old kids movie Turtle once showed him, and he snorts.

Drunk lady is on her feet in a flash, leaning heavily on the bar for balance. “You wanna fight ‘r somethin’, bitch?” She yells, and suddenly all eyes in the pub are on them. His first instinct is to apologize and leave, but liquid courage flows in him right now so he stands his ground. “You’re drunk as hell, so I’ll say this slowly: you don’t want to start shit with me, unless you’d like to taste that table.”

She gapes at him, shocked. If he’s being honest, he’s a bit surprised himself, but he doesn’t show it, simply staring her down and twitching slightly. The lady closes her jaw with an audible click. She’s about to say something when the bartender slides between them.

“Ms. Bug, I assure you this isn’t the time or place to get into a debacle. Your sister is here to pick you up, please allow me to walk you out?” While his tone is as polite as possible, it’s clear he wasn’t requesting. She nods dumbly, flipping Rabbit off as she’s lead away.

“Show’s over, back to your drinks,” Rabbit mutters and returns to his glass. He can’t help but wonder what Turtle would have done if he was here. _Probably decked her,_ he decides. Thinking about his best friend brings him back to why he’s here, and the anger comes back.

Stupid Astronaut, getting everything he’s ever wanted.

Stupid Turtle, not realizing they were meant to be.

Stupid him, not saying anything before now.

He takes a sip to distract himself, and watches the bartender reenter the building. The man’s tall, covered head to toe in brilliant orange fur. He’s in good shape, toned muscles peering out from behind a snug black t-shirt. 

The man is also headed straight for Rabbit. Crap. 

Rabbit averts his gaze, pretending to be looking at the flickering bar sign behind the counter. It bothers his eyes, but it’s better than being caught checking a stranger out. It’s silent for a few minutes until the handsome stranger speaks. 

“I saw that, you know.” He doesn’t sound offended, so Rabbit takes it as a good sign. “That lady here often?” He asks asks, more to change the subject than anything else. 

“Unfortunately, yes. She can’t quite seem to handle her liquor that well, it’s a shame.” The worker’s voice is smooth and rich, and Rabbit can’t help but smile. “Not many people can.”

There’s a challenge in the statement, and Rabbit doesn’t fail to hear it. “I can handle my drinks just fine.”

The barkeep shrugs good-naturedly. “If you insist.”

“If you’re going to question my drinking ability, the least you can do is pour me another shot and tell me your name.” Rabbit fires back, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“If I do, you have to promise not to make the joke.”

“What joke?”

A sigh. “My name is Fox- “

“Foxy.” Rabbit interrupts. Fox shakes his head and rolls his eyes. No, wait. He rolls one eye. The other stays pointed forward, staring at him. Rabbit recognizes the way the light bounces off his left eye; it’s a prosthetic. He feels a flash of sympathy: living life with hearing problems was difficult enough; he can’t imagine what it’s like with only one functional eye. 

“I _just said_ not to say it.” Fox grumbles. Rabbit grins. He taps the counter with his paw thoughtfully, enjoying their easy banter. It’s new to him, nothing like the way he jokes with Turtle. It’s lighter, more relaxed and carefree.

The thought of his best friend sours his mood a bit. Fox must notice, because suddenly a new drink is placed in front of him. “How much- “He starts to ask, but the bartender smiles.

“On the house, if you give me your name.”

Seems only fair. Rabbit smirks back cheekily. “It isn’t a fair drinking competition if you aren’t keeping up, is it?”

Fox blinks confusedly. “I’m working.” He deadpans. Now it’s Rabbit’s turn to shrug.

“Sounds like you’re chickening out of your own challenge to me.”

Fox huffs a laugh, a bemused twinkle to his eye as he retrieves a second shot glass. Rabbit decides he likes the calm fellow and raises his glass in toast. “To a new, and glorious, friendship between Foxy and Rabbit!” He calls, and they clink glasses. He watches as Fox smoothly swallows the alcohol; eyes caught on the way his throat moves as he swallows. Interesting, very interesting.

“So, Rabbit, hm?” Fox ventures, going back to wiping the counter. The bar’s nearing closing hours, so the tipsy college kid starts fumbling for his wallet. He finds himself almost sorry to leave. “Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’ with a flourish.

Rabbit places two twenties on the counter. Fox reaches out to pick them up, ghosting his paw above the smaller white one still clutching the money. They look at each other for a moment.

He can’t help but draw a comparison between Fox and Turtle again. Where Turtle’s eyes are a bright, fiery orange, Fox’s are serene. The soft yellow reminded him of a candle, warm and gentle in all the best ways. He tries to push Turtle from his mind, and whether it’s the drinks or his companion it works.

Fox exhales slowly, searching his face. Rabbit tilts his head up slightly and Fox steps closer. It feels like a dance. The canine’s paw trails up his arm languidly, leaving little goosebumps in its wake. Rabbit twitches slightly, uncertain whether to make the first move or not.

He doesn’t have to decide. Fox rocks back on his heels, clearing his throat. “I’d uh, I’d l-like.” He stutters, rubbing his muzzle with a shy grin. It’s quite endearing to watch.

“Yes?” Rabbit prompts.

Fox coughs and takes a deep breath. “I’d like to take you on a date.” He announces formally, straightening his shoulders.

A giggle escapes the hare. “I would gladly accept your invitation.” He proclaims back, pretending to adjust a bowtie. Fox snorts at him with a pleased smile.

Fox drives him home that night, refusing to allow Rabbit to spend money on a taxi. Turtle meets him at the door, thanking the bartender and pulling his friend into his room. “Sloppy night, huh?” He asks with a grin. Rabbit leans against the reptile heavily. “I’m not that drunk, I’m just happy.” He explains, the small slip of paper with Fox’s number on it burning a hole in his pocket.

“What’s got you cheesing so hard?” Turtle drops him onto his bed unceremoniously, peering at him curiously. Laying on his back, Rabbit fishes out the paper and waves it in the air triumphantly. “I got a date with the cute bar guy,” He sings.

Had he been a little more alert, he may have caught the way Turtle’s face tightened. “Oh, really?” The pure white mammal doesn’t notice how Turtle has yet to release his arm. 

Rabbit grins. “Yessire!”

Turtle smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m glad, it’s about time you found happiness.” Rabbit could say a million things here, none of them productive. So instead he bobs his head in an awkward nod. They stay like that for a moment, neither party willing to break the contact. The air is charged with an emotion that he can’t name.

The leather clad man sighs after a minute and steps back, looking away. “Well, goodnight.” He says abruptly, starting to retreat from the room.

“Wait.”

“What?”

Words pour out of Rabbit without prompting. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?” Something inside him won’t let his friend leave, not yet. “We haven’t had a movie Monday in forever.”  
“It’s Friday, dude.” Turtle points out, and Rabbit shrugs. “Semantics.”

Turtle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s kinda late, I don’t know.” He sighs, eyes focused on the floor. Rabbit jokingly lets out a childish whine, rolling over onto his side. His plan works and the younger male snorts.

“Alright, alright, scooch over than tubby.”

* * *

**_Twenty-six is the point of no return._ **

‘ _meet me at the diner in like ten?’_

_‘sure, whats up t?’_

_‘i need some advice.’_

He doesn’t reply to that last text, simply locking his phone and tossing it in his pocket. Rabbit flips a few switches on the control board in front of him, effectively killing the flames on the stage in front of him. The performers come to a slow stop, looking at him over their mic stands.

“It’s about time for lunch, meet back in about an hour?” He calls, already piling some papers into his satchel. The lead singer flashes him a thumbs up, so he heads for the door. He hails a taxi, stooping low to try and climb in without hitting his ears on the roof.

He’s constantly aware of how tall they are these days, living in Fox’s house. They’d moved in together around the one-year mark, Fox insisting that it’d be more practical given how much time they spend together. Rabbit hadn’t been able to think of a good reason not to and acquiesced, packing up and moving the forty-five minutes.

It’d only taken three weeks for Astronaut to fill his vacancy. 

Living with his boyfriend isn’t bad. Fox is responsible, clean, organized. He no longer has to spend time searching for his keys because Turtle accidentally moved them or worry about whether Turtle had sent the check to the landlord. It’s nice, not having to be the mature one; Fox doesn’t seem to mind his antics too much, generally just rolling his eyes or making a snide comment.

He never joins in, claiming Rabbit’s ‘jokes’ were not his speed. The orange mammal’s much happier ending his day with a book or an episode of his game shows. Rabbit finds it cute, the way he can call the answers out before the contestants. He’d suggested that Fox go on and win but was shot down quickly; after that he kept his ideas to himself.

Today will be the first time in a couple weeks that Rabbit will see Turtle, the two usually too busy for in-person hangouts. Between Turtle’s job at the local college and Rabbit’s odd hours, their schedules don’t seem to line up anymore.

~~If he’s being honest with himself, some days it feels like he’s living meet-up to meet-up.~~

The cab pulls up at the curb and he hands the driver some cash and heads inside. The hostess greets him with a warm smile. “Your friend’s in the back, second booth from the left.” She tells him, and he nods in thanks before setting off.

Rabbit spots Turtle first, his heart speeding up at the sight of the spikey shell. “The home for the dorks, eh?” He taunts, an inside joke for the two. Turtle laughs heartily and rises, giving Rabbit a tight hug.

“Hey man, you look great! Here, sit, I gotta talk to you.”

The taller friend raises an eyebrow at the hurried tone but sits. A waiter comes by and takes their drink order, and Rabbit can hear Turtle’s boots scrape against the floor. It’s somewhat reassuring, a nervous habit the reptile’s had since they were small children. “So, what’s up doc?” Rabbit asks, leaning back with an easy grin.

Turtle’s hand darts to his pocket, pulling out a small box. He gives the room a quick once over before opening it, revealing a pale, silver band.

It’s beautiful, outlined in black lines. Rabbit’s breath catches in his throat, and suddenly he’s hit with a painful sense of déjà vu at the look Turtle’s wearing, mentally back five years ago watching the small space man bound over.

It’s even the same booth they met at. 

_“Astronaut, this is my roommate Rabbit.” Turtle introduced, a nervous smile tugging at his beak. Rabbit eyed the short man. “A pleasure,” He said, more out of obligation than any real truthfulness. Astronaut didn’t seem to notice, jamming his hand into Rabbit’s paw and shaking it vigorously. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Even his tone seemed shy, hesitant. Rabbit decided to play nice for the night: for Turtle’s sake, this kid looked like he might faint if he did anything else._

“Rabbit?”

He snaps back to the present. “Sorry, what?” He clears his throat with some water, hoping to disguise the way his paws are trembling. Turtle’s oblivious.

“I said I’m going to ask Astro to marry me when he gets home tonight. Do you think he’ll like the ring?”  
Turtle keeps blabbering on about how it’s made from real meteorite, but Rabbit tunes out again, a sea of conflict forming in his gut.

This is it. The moment of no return. No more tomorrow’s, no more future opportunities to confess his feelings. How had the time flown past so quickly? He could have sworn it was just yesterday they were graduating, and he was telling himself that ‘tomorrow he’d tell Turtle’, and now here they are.

The words are just as stuck now as they were then. His lips buzz with that ancient memory of kissing Turtle, of the white hot feeling it had ignited inside him. He’s certain if he closes his eyes, he could feel the shell-head’s weight on his lap. Nothing that feels that pure could be wrong, he’s willing to stake his life on it.

He takes a deep breath in preparation. This is it. No more backing out, no more procrastinating. Three simple words, that’s all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

The image in his head terrifies him: Turtle, beak wrinkled in confusion and distaste. He knows Turtle better than he knows anything in his life, knows the way he reacts when he hears something he doesn’t like.

Rabbit knows what would happen if he said it. His ears buzz as the Turtle in his mind reassures nothing will change, that they’ll always remain friends, nothing more but nothing less either.

Because Turtle is happy with Astronaut.

Because Turtle wants to _marry_ Astronaut.

The lunch would end abruptly, neither having anything left to say. Turtle’s never been one to sit in an uncomfortable silence, always choosing to flee the scene instead; that familiar shell receding from his sights for the last time, until all that's left is the glint of metal on the horizon.

Rabbit would bet on radio silence from the reptile for at least a few months, before _maybe_ getting a polite excuse as to his absence.

After that, everything would be different. Turtle would try to over-correct, keeping him at an arms distance in hopes of not giving any mixed signals. Shit, he probably wouldn’t even get an invite to the wedding.

He can’t do it.

The risk is too high.

Rabbit thinks back to when he was a child, stuck in the wrong skin and utterly vulnerable. Turtle had saved him, protected him from anything and everything that threatened the hare. Way back then, he had wished for the chance to do the same, to be the superhero and save the day.

Maybe this was his chance. Turtle had never faced any real physical threats, the spikes generally acting as a deterrent. Rabbit had never protected his body, but he could protect his heart.

By biting his tongue, he could keep Turtle happy. He knows it means damming himself, yet he can’t bring himself to drag the other down with him. If he throws away his shot and says nothing, he loses a soulmate but keeps a best friend. Is that worth it?

Turtle nudges his foot under the table with an anxious chuckle. “Where’s your head at today, Bibi?” He jokes. 

Rabbit smiles. It feels rough and plastic. “With you, shell-head.”

**End.**


End file.
